


Possession and Belonging

by windchijmes



Category: The Hobbit (2012), The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Anal Sex, Explicit Sexual Content, Incest, M/M, Masturbation, Possessive Behavior, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-18
Updated: 2013-03-18
Packaged: 2017-12-05 17:12:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/725785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/windchijmes/pseuds/windchijmes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(sequel to Hush Now) Graphic Durincest smut. No non-con or dub-con. Thorin and Fili have always turned to each other for physical gratification and are careful not to be anything more, until Thorin sees Fili too close to a shield-brother. Jealous, furious and very aroused, Thorin rests naked on the fur pelts by the fireplace in his home, touching himself to his own thoughts. Fili returns and faces up to the punishment and pleasure inflicted by his Uncle.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Possession and Belonging

**Author's Note:**

> This is a sequel to [[Hush Now]](http://archiveofourown.org/works/695215). There is no real need to read the prequel before reading this fic, except that it establishes the nature of their relationship.

He is _enraged_. 

The realisation stuns him and vexes him in equal measures. And perhaps, in a deep, carefully locked-away part of his mind, it terrifies him. 

There are few women in the race of Dwarves, fewer still who can consort with the great leader of Ered Luin. There are willing men too who court the King in waiting, for he is fair of face and strong of body. Thorin has given in on occasion, lured by a hollow sense of loneliness and the temptation of baser desires. Yet at the end of the day, they are all _not enough_. Not alluring enough, or intelligent enough, or their personalities bright enough. 

They are not _golden_ enough. 

That might have been Thorin’s first thought when his own sister-son had pressed his lips to his cheek. Kisses from his nephews were pure and affectionate; those from Kili had never been less, and never been more. Yet that kiss from _Fili_ had lingered over-long on his cheek, and his eyes had sparkled with purpose. Thorin found his hands trembling with the ache to touch the boy’s golden hair in a way that was not becoming of an _Uncle_. Fili was sixty, already past stripling age, yet young still, when he first kissed Thorin that way – a youngling’s clumsy attempt at seduction. 

The expression in Fili’s eyes had been knowing and shrewd, yet the blue in them was sweetly vulnerable in that moment when he had then pressed his lips to Thorin’s _mouth_ in a way that could never be mistaken for anything other than desire. The lad would laugh with the other young Dwarves, speaking with fervor of his prowess with his weapons, but his body trembled when Thorin touched him to guide his combat stances. And he shivered even more, needy little moans tumbling from his lips, when Thorin guided him in the warmth of their bed. 

They have gold now, the Dwarves of Ered Luin, having rebuilt their riches and glories over time and backbreaking work. And all this gold cannot compare to the fire of Fili’s hair and the forbidden pleasures of his body. 

Fili is his _sister-son_ and Thorin should have refused that first time. 

He hadn’t. 

So for five years, they seek gratification from each other whenever the need rears its ugly head, in the unlikeliest places, at the most inopportune times. Fili takes to spending all the hours of his days, and most of his evenings with Kili. But the _nights_ , when the hour is late and the earth lies in slumber, he slips into Thorin’s chambers and slides into his bed like a sylph. And when he opens his legs and wraps them around Thorin’s waist, he is more wanton wench than a sprite, but Thorin is no less bewitched. 

Thorin would have given anything for it to stay that way – that they should seek each other only for physical relief, and commit just the sins of the flesh. _Nothing more_. 

Yet hours earlier, he had passed the training grounds and saw Fili jesting with a shield-brother. There was a knowing twinkle to Fili’s eyes as he brushed past the other Dwarf, a coquettish lift to his smile. And the shield-brother had responded in _kind_ , going as far as to hold Fili against the wall with his bulk, and bending his head to nuzzle at Fili’s cheek. 

It took several leadened heartbeats before Thorin recognised the emotion at the forefront of his mind. _Fury_. 

The realisation only stoked his ire, and abated none of his cold terror at his own jealousy over his nephew. 

Fili had looked up, his gaze riveting on Thorin, his expression betraying guilt and defiance and distress at all once. He had twisted free of the offending Dwarf easily then, and taken several steps towards Thorin. 

Thorin had left him there, turning away to retreat to his private dwellings in north Ered Luin. It was as much Fili’s punishment, as his own. He needed the space and time alone, to sort his mind out. 

Thorin looks down at himself now. 

He has just stepped from his bathing quarters, clean from his day’s work, yet filthy again from his own thoughts. Between his legs, his loins are warm, and his manhood is stirring from its rest. 

Even in his selection of a bed-mate, Thorin must choose one who arouses and angers him in equal turns. 

He leaves his robes on the bed. The chamber is warm from the glowing fireplace, dim in the corners from the shadows outside, yet mostly golden-lit from the fire. The pelts laid out on the flooring shield his feet from the chilly stone, and now they soak in the heat from the fireplace, and the warmth from his own body as he sinks into it. It is the only luxury in his spartan chamber; Dwalin has taken a look at it once and called him a hedonistic bastard. 

He keeps it anyway, and does not feel the need to admit that he likes the feel of silken fur on his flesh, the brush of stray hairs across his skin. 

Now he stretches out on it, resting half-inclined against stitched stacks of silks and linens, and stares into the fireplace as if he may see his own mind reflected in its embers. He sees nothing but golden hair and searing azure orbs. 

Closing his eyes, he wraps one hand around his shaft, the familiarity of his own touch drawing a quiet hiss from his throat. Dwalin may be right about his hidden hedonism, for he takes his time with his own body, wracking slow torture upon himself as he drags his hand over his swelling arousal. He keeps his strokes agonisingly slow, until his arousal stiffens almost to full hardness, unsatisfied, the friction too little to bring him to the edge. 

He arches into his own touch. And he waits. 

++++++++++

Fili waits outside the door, hovering like a nervous stripling, and feels completely foolish. Thorin is in there, he knows, and he feels somewhat wry that in moments like these, it is _Thorin_ he thinks of, and not Uncle. 

The depth of his intoxication is worse than he lets himself believe. He is not unaware of the forbidden nature of his dalliance with his own blood-Uncle. It is _wrong_ , and Fili feels he must be sick in the very root of his soul, because it only spurs him on. What had been a passing appreciation of his Uncle’s aquiline features and indomitable spirit had deepened and manifested into a need to touch, and taste, and _take_. 

The Heirs of Durin. The Crown Prince in waiting, bedding his own Uncle. 

If there comes a day when they are brought to trial for their sins, Fili knows there is no escape for either of them. And he cares naught for it. 

He thinks perhaps he should be afraid, for he has committed perversion against nature, but _right this moment_ , he fears more of the pain he has caused Thorin. He’s angered Thorin that morning, he knows as much. His shield-brother’s touch lingers on him still, like slithering worms under his skin. 

Fili’s heart pounds in his chest. He’s broken Thorin’s rule. Thorin’s _trust_. 

_No one else will touch you like this._

That was what Thorin had commanded him since their very first coupling. 

And he had obeyed, every day, every _hour_ since, for five years. Now, a restlessness gnaws deep within him. It is not enough anymore. The clandestine trysts, the covert exchange of heated glances, the fear buried deep – that the last time they lay together _may be the last_ – never allowed to surface when Thorin goes with his troops to quell the border skirmishes. He _hates_ the secrecy of it all, and most of all, he hates himself for going back again and again, like a moth drawn to flame. 

So he waits until it is deep in the night, then he unlatches the entrance to Thorin’s private dwellings in the way he has been taught, and follows the light of Thorin’s chamber until he stands right outside the door. 

The door is slightly ajar, allowing the light and warmth of fire to seep out from the inner chamber. He yearns to enter, but he remembers again. He’s angered Thorin. Hurt him, possibly. There would be punishment for that. 

Then a moan reaches his ears – a sound that is sultry and deep, and resonant with dark promise. 

He moves like a man possessed, pushing the door open until his eyes behold the scene within. 

Thorin lies on the fur pelts, completely bared, the silver and ebony of the furs seeming to accentuate his hard, rippling form, and the black of his hair. The light from the fireplace licks over his body, gathering shadows in the dusting of dark hair, and glinting off the swells of powerful muscles. His face is turned towards the fire; only his bearded chin and one flushed cheek can be seen. His head arches, and his body follows the movement, strong back undulating, robust thighs tensing. One of his legs is bent, foot planted on the fur, and it offers prying eyes an unobscured view of the thatch of dark curls between his thighs, and the thick, ridged cock rising from it. 

Fili’s mouth is dry as his eyes rivet greedily on that impressive erection. It is not long, but it is huge in girth, and thickly-veined, and now it _pulses_ as it disappears in and out of Thorin’s hand. Thorin’s head is thrown back now, his hair a dark fan across the furs, hips grinding up sensuously into the sweet torment of his own hand. His other hand clutches over the furs as another moan drags from his chest. 

The sound surges like a heated flare right into Fili’s groin. 

He is inside the room before he knows it, his hands digging into his own breeches. He is no virgin, but he feels like one now. 

Thorin’s breathing and movements slow. His head turns and eyes flutter open to rest upon Fili. There is a flush on his face, and sweat dews on his skin. The thick head of his cock glistens with fluid, and Fili wants to _lick_ it off. 

Fili swallows hard, and Thorin’s lips turn up in a dark, knowing smile. There is no mirth in it. His eyes are losing their glazed arousal, and darkening like storm clouds as they rake over Fili like a touch. In that moment, he feels like neither Thorin nor Uncle, but a great, lounging beast upon the furs. 

Fili’s hands unclench, and clench again, trapped by Thorin’s gaze and unable to escape. 

“Strip,” that is all Thorin says. 

++++++++++

“Strip.” 

He gives a single command, and then he waits. The edge has faded from his arousal, but the hunger remains keen, predatory. Fili senses it too, for his gaze darts towards the door, where it still rests ajar. There is escape; Thorin certainly will not follow if Fili leaves. Then he sees the lad swallow again, his throat moving soundlessly, before his fingers rise to the clasps on his outercoat. 

So the lad willingly traps himself. 

Thorin’s smile curls, then he closes it off, schooling his face into a mask of neutrality, and now he simply watches. 

His scrutiny unsettles the boy, he knows. 

Fili’s taken his clothes off countless times for Thorin, but now, his fingers trip over one another as he pulls off his outercoat and boots. The leather jerkin quickly follows, then the thin undershirt beneath. He shivers a little, though the chamber is warm, and again, his fingers fumble as he unlaces his breeches. Loosened, they fall to a pile around his ankles. Fili breathes a little more unevenly. Now the only layer that stands between his body and Thorin’s gaze is the fine linen of his underpants. His eyes glance up and hold Thorin’s own, and he exhales ever so slowly as he eases the underpants over his hips and down his legs. Then he stands there, naked, for Thorin’s perusal. 

He hesitates then, unsure of his next move. One of his hands moves towards his crotch as if to cover his nudity, before he catches himself and stills. That unbidden betrayal of his discomfort sends a spark to the pits of Thorin’s belly. He wants to throw the lad down and ravage him into the furs. 

But _no_. Not yet. Not till he’s exact punishment. 

“Closer,” Thorin beckons with one finger, then gestures to his own leg where it stretches out over the furs. “Here.” 

Fili understands his instruction because a blush is rising up his neck. He comes forth and lowers himself to the furs. Even naked and uneasy, there is innate grace and strength in his movements. This is all Fili, not something that can be taught or bestowed. He parts his legs and straddles Thorin’s outstretched thigh, one knee to either side so he seems to be part kneeling in penance, part displaying himself. The image he makes is not lost on Fili himself. Though no longer an innocent in bed, his cheeks are stained with colour. 

Thorin takes his time; there is plenty of it and the night is long. He simply watches again, drinking in that familiar body that is presented to him like succulent offering. Like most young Dwarves, Fili is sturdy in build, muscled in flesh. Golden hair covers his skin, sparse over most of him, coarse at his chest and groin. He is already hardening between his legs and he’s not even been touched yet. Yet unlike most Dwarves, there is a softness to him. From the tenderness of inner thighs, to the slant of his waist, the curve of his neck, and there it is – the _trepidation_ behind his sunlit veneer that he tries so hard to mask. 

The lad’s lips are smiling, a defiant edge to them to cover his apprehension. 

It almost makes Thorin proud that Fili would not yield so easily. 

“You were with your shield-brother in the morning,” Thorin says, keeping his tone light, almost conversational. 

No hesitation. “Yes.” 

“You are close.” 

A pause. “He is my shield-brother.” 

A non-answer. Thorin holds back a smile as he studies Fili’s face. Beneath the thick, golden scruff at his chin, there is definitely a trace of impetuousness to his expression. This is as close to a tantrum the lad will come. But he covers it well enough. 

“You kiss your shield-brothers?” Thorin presses, raising himself a little off the linens so he can stare straight into Fili’s eyes. 

“I do not,” Fili says, his tone flat. “I _did_ not.” The barest hint of anger bleeding through his composure.  “He – ” he stops abruptly. 

“He?” Thorin picks up the slip right away. Now he lets a smile show on his face. It is sunless and calculated, meant to hurt. “So he kissed you. Did you like it?” 

Fili’s eyes narrow. “I didn’t – I don’t – why do you ask me that?” His words are rushed now, spilling over one another in a single breath. “He did not kiss me! He barely touched me.” 

“Because that would have been next,” Thorin says and his voice is a furious hiss. “You let him come so close.” He lifts his hand towards Fili’s face, and almost out of instinct, the lad turns his head towards that caress. But Thorin stops, his hand hovering at Fili’s cheek, not touching, just reminding both of them where the other Dwarf’s filthy lips had sullied. 

Lips pressed in a thin, trembling line, Fili holds himself still, even though his eyes track Thorin’s hand, and the longing is so clear in his gaze. 

“I did let him approach,” Fili admits. He looks neither ashamed, nor embittered about it. “I knew of his thoughts about me. I knew he wanted me.” His chin lifts. “I used it.” 

Thorin pulls his hand back. “Do you regret it?” 

Fili stares back at him without flinching. “ _No_.” 

Again, Thorin has to restrain his amusement. He is supposed to be angry – _he still is_ – but it is getting harder to remind himself of it. “Why did you do it?” 

“I – ” Fili falters, and he looks away, frowning. 

“Look at me.” 

Fili forces his gaze up to Thorin again. “I – ” And for a brief, brittle moment, his façade shatters, and there is such helpless _desire_ in his eyes. “I wanted you. But your eyes are distracted by so many things that I cannot compete with. I did not know how else to make you see me.” 

It makes Thorin’s heart ache a little. Thorin has heard his fair share of frivolous flattery and ardent courting oaths, and none compare to the tempestuous, earnest, and painfully truthful confession from this young Dwarf brat. And seeing Fili now, gazing anxiously at Thorin from under his eyelashes, and _not knowing_ just how much it is tempting Thorin into fucking him raw through the night, is like being intoxicated by a heady scent. 

“Well, you have my attention now,” Thorin says, and his voice has gone deeper, and rougher. 

They both hear it, for the wariness is back in Fili’s eyes. The boy has a most excellent sense of impending danger. Thorin leans up on one hand, his movements measured and sinuous. He bends his head close to Fili and forces down his lust when the younger Dwarf has to visibly hold himself unmoving – as best as he can perched naked over Thorin’s leg. 

“What do you want?” Thorin urges him, gaze flicking down to Fili’s arousal, where it is stiffening right before his eyes, flushing red at the head. 

“I want you. All of you.” Fili says quietly, unsteadily. He shifts on his knees, thighs jerking as Thorin’s leg lifts and presses briefly against his crotch. “I want to taste – ” he is staring hungrily at Thorin’s shaft now, which has lost little of its impressive erection. “I want to taste _you_.” 

“Not yet.” 

The small, disappointed sound in Fili’s throat almost makes Thorin re-consider. The lad has a talented mouth, and not just in clever words and colourful declarations of valour. But this is a punishment after all. 

“Tell me where he’s touched you,” Thorin raises his hand and winds it into Fili’s hair, letting the locks run over his fingers like liquid gold. “Here?” 

Fili hesitates, then sighs. “Yes.” 

An irate rumble thunders in Thorin’s chest, and he has to compose himself swiftly. This will not do. His anger is too quick to rise, as it often does when it comes to matters concerning this infuriating lad. He combs his fingers through that golden head, careful not to tug on the locks, but keeping his touch fleeting, not enough to comfort. 

When he is satisfied, he places his fingers under Fili’s bearded chin and lifts it. The lad’s pale neck is bared and Thorin means to caress his skin. Then Thorin sees _them_ just below Fili’s jaw – ugly, rounded bruises the size of large Dwarven fingers. 

It is through sheer will that Thorin’s grip does not tighten on Fili’s chin. “You said he barely touched you.” Thorin’s voice is low and dangerous now. “I didn’t see him do _this_.” 

Fili swallows convulsively, and his words are choked in his throat; he can hardly squeeze them out. “It was after. You left.” 

“So he used force.” Cold rage slides down Thorin’s spine like a knife. “I’ll have his _hand_.” 

“You cannot,” Fili mutters, and he scowls like a petulant child, looking more like Kili than his own self. “I _broke_ it.” 

There is a sudden urge to laugh, and Thorin stems it back – for now. Ridiculous, foolhardy and feisty little brat. But he does allow a small smile on his face as he cups the back of Fili’s neck and pulls the lad closer so he can press his lips to those bruises. The younger Dwarf sighs and nestles into him immediately, lifting his head for Thorin to bite kisses down his throat. The skin is soft and the scent of it, masculine, and clean, and _so sweet_. Thorin’s control frays without warning, and he growls as he hauls the lad into his chest, his teeth clamping down on the pulse point at his neck. No blood is drawn, but the pain is sharp, and Fili’s cry vibrates under Thorin’s mouth. A series of uneven moans follow, as Thorin’s lips gentle, and his tongue laves over the hurting skin. 

Just when Fili lifts his arms to wrap around him, Thorin puts distance between them, pushing Fili back until the young Dwarf is again kneeling upright over his leg. Fili’s chest is rising and falling with erratic gasps, and he is a beautiful picture of descent into debauchery. Hair a dishevelled drape about his shoulders, golden braids loosening, his young cock standing upright, as if begging for attention. And at his neck – Thorin’s eyes _flare_ at the sight – a deep, angry set of teeth marks bruises the tender skin there. It will darken by the next day, and it will remind the both of them of possession. 

“Thorin,” Fili whispers, his eyes falling to half-mast. He waits like this, enticing Thorin even without moving. 

“We’re not done yet,” Thorin reminds him. He lifts his hand to the nipples on Fili’s chest, and toys idly with them, rolling them in his fingers until the nubs stiffen. “Did he touch you here?” 

“No…” Fili murmurs, restless. 

“Where else did he touch you? You will tell me.” 

Again Fili feels the shift in their dance of question and punishment. He seems to weigh the consequences of his answer in his mind, before he says, “He touched my…leg.” 

“Leg?” Thorin places a hand on one of Fili’s calves. The muscle jumps under his touch. “Here?” 

“High…higher…” 

Thorin’s hand follows the lad’s words, running slowly over his calf, and up the side of his thigh. “Here.” 

Fili bites his lip and nods. 

“Did you like it?” 

The lad actually makes a face, features scrunching up. “It was loathsome,” he sniffs. “He wasn’t you.” 

Thorin’s chuckle resounds in his throat. He begins to stroke the skin under his hand. “You could pretend it was me.” 

“I…I could…” Fili’s gaze flickers. 

“So pretend. Where would you have liked me to touch you?” 

Fili inhales shakily. “Deeper…” 

Thorin slides his hand down Fili’s inner thighs. The skin is covered with fine down. He caresses the quivering skin in sensuous circles, and the young Dwarf parts his legs unconsciously for more. 

“ _Higher_ ,” Fili says, needy and demanding at once. When Thorin pauses, he realises his mistake at once. “Higher, please,” his voice is a pleading whisper now. 

So Thorin relents and cups the lad’s testicles. They are smooth and full, and Thorin warms them up with his palm, fondling them until Fili is squirming, his thighs shaking with the effort of holding himself up. The lad grinds into his hand, but Thorin is careful to avoid just where Fili wants him to touch the _most_ – that pretty cock so flushed and hard at his belly. He gives Fili’s balls a last gentle squeeze, then slides one finger slowly up into the tight cleft between his buttocks. The azure gaze above him widens, and _darkens_ as Thorin’s finger seeks out that quivering ring of muscle. He circles it just once, then pulls his hand away entirely, ceasing all contact. 

“ _Uncle_ ,” Fili’s voice is a harsh groan. 

It is a single word, and it sends jolts through Thorin’s every nerve. He is sickened by it, yet he is _even more aroused_ by it. It is in the perversion of the nature of the endearment; that the sister-son is begging to be ravished by his own uncle. This intoxication has seized them in its throes and driven them both mad. 

And mad he is, so Thorin lifts his nephew’s chin with one hand to stake his claim. “Fili,” he says, and makes sure the young Dwarf is looking right into his eyes. “I have asked you this before. And now, I will ask you this again. _Do you belong to me_?” 

“Thorin…” Fili’s eyes flutter, and Thorin tightens his grasp, forcing his gaze to focus. There will be no pretense, no charade about this. 

“Do you know what it _means_?” Thorin says, his voice gone hoarse. He sounds delirious and he should be scornful of himself, of his own despairing addiction to this golden-haired lad. But he will give a choice now, one that he is unlikely to ever offer again, and he will let the boy decide. 

“It means you will never look upon another the way your gaze is set on me. No one else will touch you, hold you, taste you the way I do, the way I _can_. It means in the moments I lose sight of all my senses, and my jealousies turn to poison, I will tell you when to speak, when to think, _when to breathe_. But you alone, and no other, will be the remedy to my sickness. _So choose now, of your own will, lest you regret it_.” 

Fili’s gaze is bright and unfettered. All emotions are laid bare on his face; nothing is hidden from Thorin. There is disbelief, and youthful, unadulterated gladness, and with that, a sort of wonder at the power he wields over Thorin. He bends his head and presses his lips to Thorin’s fingers, right where the Durin ring encircles. 

“I am _already_ yours.” 

Thorin just _looks_ at him. “ _Come here_.” 

Their mouths meet desperately. Thorin lets the lad throw his arms around his neck, his own hands tracking possessively over every inch of Fili that he can reach. They kiss like starving men, tearing at each other’s lips, naked bodies rocking together in heat and hunger. Fili’s legs curl around his waist as he _rubs_ himself against Thorin’s groin. 

Thorin’s head rears back. He is panting and he snorts when he sees the sparkle in Fili’s azure gaze. 

“I’m sorry for this morning,” Fili is saying as he nudges his forehead against Thorin’s. “It was stupid.” 

“Stupid and reckless,” Thorin’s glare just draws a grin from the younger Dwarf. “And _dangerous_.” 

“And dangerous,” Fili agrees, beginning to nuzzle at Thorin’s cheek. “I should be punished for it.” 

Thorin raises one eyebrow, in between having soft lips pressing into his nose, cheeks, chin, and his body responding fervently to these little caresses. “What do you have in mind?” he rumbles, his hands finding Fili’s buttocks. He kneads those muscled mounds, taking savage delight in the feel of firm, supple flesh. 

“You can ravish me,” Fili suggests solemnly, his tone at striking odds to the way he squirms his rump shamelessly back into Thorin’s hands. “Mark me all over…” His breathing is faster now, feathering over Thorin’s lips in warm puffs. “Make me beg…” He kisses Thorin, slow and beguiling. “ _Fuck me till I scream_.” 

A deep, guttural growl drags out of Thorin’s throat. “Get the oil.” 

Fili obeys at once, bending over to rummage for the oil in Thorin’s coat by the pelts, his fingers clumsy, whining in protest as Thorin pushes his thigh up between Fili’s legs to tease his stiff erection. The lad doesn’t succumb easily. A mischievous glint steals into his eyes as he sprawls himself over Thorin’s lap, and still holding Thorin’s attention, takes hold of the large, hot shaft at the crown of his Uncle’s thighs, and drags his tongue across the slit. 

“I’ve been waiting to do this…” Fili sighs, mouthing wet kisses over the bulbous, meaty head of Thorin’s shaft. It takes all of Thorin’s willpower not to force himself into that cunning mouth, and just lie still as the lad’s lips and tongue do their devilish work. 

“Teasing wench…” Thorin growls, taking ferocious gratification at Fili’s display of not-quite submission. 

The lad finishes licking the head of his cock clean of the copious fluid that has gathered there. “ _Your_ teasing wench,” he corrects with a smug little laugh. 

“Up,” Thorin snarls. He has enough of waiting. He’s been teetering between arousal and fury for so long, he will _exact_ what he so desires from his errant lover now. And Fili’s coy submissiveness does nothing but incense him even further, goading him on to take the lad, _ravage him_. 

Fili does as he commands, rising to his knees again, but Thorin takes him by the waist and shoves him around to face the other way. His breath trips when Thorin’s next order comes in a hoarse grunt. “Hands and knees. Spread your legs. Open up for me.” 

There is a fleeting moment of hesitation; the lad’s innate sense of self-preservation kicking in, but it is just as swiftly overridden by carnal instincts. He pushes his thighs far apart, then leans forward on his knees and hands so he is completely bared to the dark scrutiny searing into him from behind. And he shivers in anticipation, turning his head to beckon Thorin out of beseeching, lust-drunk eyes. 

Thorin is already rising, a fire raging in his insides, enflaming his whole body. He _wants_ so badly; his vision narrows to a single, burning focus, seeing nothing but the beautiful body displayed for _him_. Those rounded swells of buttocks spread wide, revealing that blushing hole between. 

Thorin’s fingers are as clumsy as Fili’s had been, _shaking_ as he coats them with the oil. He rubs two of them against Fili’s quivering entrance, then works them slowly _just_ inside the tight passage. Fili whimpers at the harsh caress, but his hips angle _back_ into the same intrusion, begging for more. _Eager little thing._ But Thorin wants to toy with him, punish him a bit more, so he takes the time to fill Fili up with his fingers, spreading them out within the lad’s channel, rolling them around to coat the insides with oil, wriggling them inside inch by inch until he is knuckle-deep in Fili. 

The lad is a quivering mess by then, his hands rending into the furs, head bowed and shoulders quaking with heaving pants. He is pushing back and fucking himself on Thorin’s fingers, desperate for more friction than the cruel, half-hearted digs Thorin’s fingers are teasing him with. 

“ _Please_ …” Fili moans, twisting his head around to gaze at Thorin, face damp with sweat and golden hair plastered to his cheeks. “I want your cock…please…it’s not enough…” 

The lad is ready. He looks almost intoxicated with lust, his body so tantalisingly sensitive now from the torment Thorin has been wracking on him. Thorin withdraws his fingers and smears his own cock with the oil, needing to grit his teeth against the pleasure of his own hand to stop himself from veering too close to the edge. 

“ _Uncle_ …” That titillating, husky little moan that never fails to drive Thorin mad with need. 

His large hands grip Fili by the hips, hard enough to leave marks, and he drags the young Dwarf roughly back towards him, so he can wedge his cock between Fili’s buttocks. Thorin closes his eyes, and he takes a heady moment to relish the feel of that puckered ring twitching around the head of his cock, like it’s trying to suck him in. 

“Now…in me, now…Uncle…inside me, Thorin…” Fili entreats him, almost as if he’s chanting. 

Thorin is helpless to it, and he groans long and low as he pushes in, feeling muscle strain and yield at the penetration, before he is suddenly inside Fili. The lad’s gaze is roiling with emotion, and Thorin wonders briefly if it is Uncle or Thorin that Fili is seeing in his mind. But it ceases to matter; now they are driven by the single, bestial need to rut and mate. The velvet clamp around his cock is almost unbearably tight as he seats himself inside, Fili groaning and back bowing beneath him. He goes slow, but unrelenting, not stopping until he is buried to the hilt and his balls rest against Fili’s buttocks. 

He does not think he can wait, not with that incredible heat sucking and tugging at his cock. His grip on Fili’s hips is trembling with the strain of reining in his control, and with _warning_. He needs to _move_ soon, needs to thrust into this willing flesh now. 

And the lad knows. Fili tosses his head back, urgent and impatient. “ _Fuck me_ ,” he demands like the spoilt little brat he is. 

Thorin’s laugh comes out more a snarl than anything else. His control is completely shattered now as he pulls out, and bucks back inside Fili, his thrusts gaining in pace and intensity as he hauls the young Dwarf back into every lunge. He is neither gentle nor kind now. Obscene sounds of rutting grow thick in the air as his thighs and balls slap against Fili’s buttocks with each thrust, punctuated by his own harsh groans, and desperate, keening cries from the sweet body beneath his. 

Fili’s arms give way, his head slumping onto his hands as he clutches wildly at the furs. His hair and body are both striking golden against the dark silver of the pelts. He cannot touch himself like this; his hips are raised to be mercilessly plowed by Thorin’s cock, and his hands can barely keep his head aloft. His own erection, swollen and unsatisfied, sways heavily between his legs. 

Thorin keeps up his brutal pace until they are both close, then he knows he _wants to see_ the lad’s face twist in torment and pleasure when he comes. So, he pulls out completely, feeling Fili’s protests himself as they both moan from being bereft of contact, and he reaches down and lifts the young Dwarf up so his back is flush against Thorin’s chest. The lad is like a boneless doll in his arms, quivering uncontrollably, so he turns Fili’s face to his own, and kisses his whimpers quiet. 

He takes the weight of the smaller Dwarf into his embrace, keeping Fili’s thighs splayed with his own legs, and nudging his cock between Fili’s buttocks. “Feel all of me,” he says into Fili’s ear, voice hard and dark. “ _Mine_ ,” he finishes and bites down on Fili’s hot, sweat-damp shoulder, tasting the sweet-salty flesh. His cock claims the lad from below, spearing up savagely and thoroughly into Fili’s hole, meeting no resistance at all, just slick, clenching heat. 

Fili cries out at the dual onslaught, one arm curling around Thorin’s neck even as he writhes helplessly under Thorin’s mouth, and over Thorin’s hips as he sinks completely onto his Uncle’s engorged cock. His eyes are fixed on Thorin, but the expression in them glazed, and his mouth hangs open with dry sobs. Their pace begins anew; Thorin has one hand wound in Fili’s hair, keeping him in place as Thorin’s mouth marks his neck and shoulders with bruising kisses. The other arm locks around Fili’s waist, dragging him down to be fucked deep and hard. 

“Let me come…please…” Fili moans against his lips. “Touch me…make me come…make me…” A drawn-out stream of senseless entreaties next, interspersed with whispers of _Uncle_ and _Thorin_ and _yours_. 

Thorin’s hand slides down to grasp Fili’s arousal. His _sister-son’s_ cock. Wet and throbbing and so hot in his hand. He rubs it in his calloused palm, pumping it in time to his thrusts, urging _good boy, good lad, come in my hand_. Fili’s eyes squeeze shut, his entire body tensing against Thorin, and his scream is stifled by Thorin’s mouth when he climaxes in long, sticky strings of white over Thorin’s hand. 

The torturous clench around Thorin’s cock spurs him on, and he pounds up into it faster and harder. He lets go of Fili’s spent cock now, and gathers the lad’s pliant body in his arms, almost lifting Fili off the pelts with each lunge of his larger bulk, wrenching little mewls from the boy as his oversensitised body is ruthlessly jostled and bounced. 

“Inside me…inside…” Thorin hears Fili moan, but does not see, as his eyes fall shut. The tension in his loins draws impossibly taut, and he buries his groans into Fili’s hair as the line _snaps_ , and he comes deep inside Fili. He keeps thrusting, stuttering jerks, as his release spills into Fili’s passage. Gasps tumble harsh and uneven from his chest. He stays like that, recovering his scattered senses, letting the last of his seed drain into his nephew, not withdrawing just yet. 

It takes several moments before he feels Fili’s hand stroking his flank. “Are you…” his voice is raw from the rutting, but he has the decency to sound bashful even in his ravished state. “Are you not…” he squirms and immediately chokes on his breath when Thorin’s shaft rubs inside him. 

“Keep still,” Thorin’s laugh into the lad’s golden head sounds feral even to his own ears. “Or you’ll be punished for a second round.” 

Fili just huffs, but he does remain as still as he can, cheeks turning crimson as Thorin grinds up into him to let him feel the wet slide of seed and softening cock in his arse. But it does not last, and Thorin pulls out from his lover’s body when he is finally fully spent. 

“Brute,” Fili complains but he is smirking as he turns in Thorin’s arms. 

They are both weary, a languid drowsiness setting in after the wild rutting of earlier. Thorin indulges his armful of golden, satiated young Dwarf, knowing that while Fili does not seek contact with him when they are in the presence of others, the lad likes to be soothed and petted after coupling. So he cradles Fili against his chest as he lies back onto the fur pelts, and keeps one arm wrapped around him. 

They remain like this for as long as they can spare, lying in the warmth from the fireplace, and the comfort of thick fur beneath their entwined bodies. 

“So…” Fili begins. His tone is calm, sleepy even, but Thorin understands the lad’s temperament too well not to miss the underlying tension to his voice. “Does this mean you belong to me too?” 

Thorin glances down at Fili, but his face is well hidden in Thorin’s neck. Foolish lad. Thorin takes his chin and draws his face up, ignoring the stubborn reluctance from the lad, making sure Fili cannot escape from his gaze. He uses his free hand to pull the deeply-woven braids in his hair over one shoulder so Fili can see them. 

And Fili _does_ see them. Silver clasps on each of those braids. Every one of them etched with the insignia of the Crown Prince. 

Fili’s breath catches, and for a fleeting moment, his gaze is fragile and shines too brightly. Then, in the next moment, his lips are curling up into his familiar smirk. “Does this mean only your hair belongs to me? What about the rest of you?” he demands like a self-righteous little princeling. 

“Already yours,” Thorin says, and obeys when Fili raises his head to be kissed. 

Come the first light of day, they would separate and clean themselves of the remnants of their sins. They would dress, and before they leave this sanctuary, they would give in to temptation and embrace, Fili clinging just a heartbeat too long. Then they would part and return to the courts of Ered Luin to take their places as King and Crown Prince. 

But for now, they rest and take respite in the sounds of the other’s breathing. For they know that there is complete possession of each other, and acceptance of grotesque desires that may never see the light of day. And when the judgment of the Maker descends upon them, and their souls are damned together, they know there will also be belonging and they are content. 

 

_finis_

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End file.
